Tangled Up In You
by Keisuke Sora
Summary: Dean comes home drunk. Sam takes advantage. Simple as that.


Author: Me (jeeg94 on AO3 | deans42ndfreckle on tumblr)  
Pairing: Sam/Dean (underage Sam but not quite Weecest)  
Rating: NC17  
Word Count: 1167  
Summary: Dean comes home drunk. Sam takes advantage. Simple as that.

Notes: I just wanted to write something porny and it was 7:30 in the morning and I couldn't get back to sleep and it's too fucking early for this shit. Actually I may or may not have dreamed this in explicit detail. It's not like I own the poor bastards so I suppose dreams will have to suffice until the day I rule the world.

Anywho, here's some shameless PWP!

* * *

The first time Sam gives Dean a blow job, he's seventeen and his brother has just stumbled in the door reeking of top shelf whiskey that Sam wonders where he got the money to buy. But knowing Dean, he didn't have to pay for any of it. He probably hustled pool all night at two or three different bars before banging some chick in the back of the Impala and making his way back to the motel du jour.

Sam's pretending to be asleep when Dean flops down on the bed next to him and starts untying his laces. He's muddling through alright when he gets to the left one and realizes there's a huge tangle in it and there's no way in hell he'll be able to fix it. With a frustrated groan, he flops backwards, his head landing square on Sam's stomach and Sam grunts at the impact, no longer able to feign unconsciousness.

"Mind giving me a little help, bro?" Dean says in a tone that he will deny is a whimper to his dying day.

Sam sighs and pushes Dean off him, "Maybe if you didn't get so stone-assed drunk all the time, you might manage to have the co-ordination of a sleepy toddler."

"M'not a child, bitch. Can't help it if people give me free drinks."

"Whatever, jerk,' Sam replies under his breath. He didn't think Dean heard him but, all the same, he slid off the bed and started working on the knot in Dean's lace. It takes a couple minutes but Sam eventually manages to detangle it enough to slip the boot off Dean's foot.

He stands up after he's done and looks down at his brother. He's catching up to Dean's height relatively quickly and the fact that it won't be long before he exceeds it leaves a funny taste in his mouth. Sam never examines Dean's body too closely any more. When he was younger and puberty was nothing more than a distant gleam on the horizon, Sam could look all he wanted, and even touch, in the right circumstances. Nowadays, the threat of popping inopportune wood is causing him to have to back off a little and he knows that Dean hates it as much as he does but he also knows that Dean thinks it's necessary because Sammy is growing up and needs his space.

Well that's a crock o' shit, says Sam.

Dean is nearly asleep now, grumbling into the crook of the arm flung over his face and Sam's wandering eyes notice that Dean's got a not so little problem of his own. Playing like this is any other time that Dean has come home from a night of bar hustling, Sam unbuttons Dean's shirt and jeans, trying to coax his brother into enough coherency to co-operate with getting them off. Finally, he has him down to just his t-shirt and shorts and Sam manoeuvers him onto the bed. Once Dean is placed exactly where Sam wants him, then the real fun begins.

Without stopping to wonder if Dean is still awake or not, Sam begins tugging Dean's boxers down his thighs. He's not surprised to see that Dean's already semi-hard from the slight friction that the movement has provided. Sam takes a moment then to admire his brother's thickening cock. It's begun to curve gently towards his stomach and, when Sam runs a finger up the side of it, it twitches and releases a small gout of pearly fluid that he desperately wants to taste.

So he does.

Sam flicks out with his tongue to catch the liquid and is rewarded with a quiet whine from Dean and a salty sweet taste that he can't be sure whether he likes or not.

So he decides to investigate further.

Sam slips the head of Dean's dick into his mouth and swirls his tongue in the slit, hoping to coax some more precome out of it. Dean arches obscenely from the bed and his shirt rides up to reveal a little more of his tan stomach. Sam grins around his mouthful and bobs his head a little lower, sucking as he goes.

"Oh, god, Sammy…"

Sam looks up to see his brother's wide eyes locked onto his lips and Sam sucks again, hoping to pull a better reaction from Dean now that he's alert and he's not surprised when his head hits the pillow with a muted thump.

"Fuck," Dean says, drawing the word out for a beat or two, "God, Sam, harder."

If Sam's surprised at the instruction, he doesn't show it, instead electing to suck harder and faster, bobbing his head when he finds that easier than moving his entire torso. He gets a rhythm going, taking Dean deeper on every pull and Dean is swearing in six different modern languages and three dead ones.

Letting up a bit, Sam suckles kisses down the vein on the underside and moves down to Dean's balls. Now he brings his hands into the action, tugging and rolling them, feeling their weight and warmth. When Sam pulls one into his mouth, Dean spreads his legs wider and moans so loudly it's almost a shout. His head thrashes from side to side and Sam wonders for a moment whether he could pull Dean's orgasm from him just by doing this. He thinks that it's certainly worth further enquiry at a later date.

"Sam, please, I need…" Dean pulls up short, a flush painting his freckled cheeks as he looks anywhere but at his brother. Sam's hands are still on his cock and balls, tugging and rolling, keeping Dean on the edge that he desperately wants to fall off of.

"What is it, Dean? What do you need?" Sam breathes the questions, his mouth hovering inches above where Dean really wants him. It's not long before Dean breaks, begging insensately with the need to come.

And, of course, Sam obliges.

He lowers his mouth back to the weeping head and sucks so hard that Dean's scream borders on painful. His arms fly out to the sides, ripping holes in the crappy motel sheets but Sam can't be bothered to care because, without warning, Dean is coming, first, down his throat, so hard he barely has time to swallow it all but then, Sam pulls back and manages to catch a mouthful. He lets the rest paint his face as he swishes around what he's got. The flavour is sweet and salty with some indefinable element that probably comes from Dean himself. Now Sam knows he likes it.

Dean's eyes are closed now but they snap open when Sam moans at the taste.

"Fuck, Sammy, you know we're gonna have to talk about this when I'm sober enough to think straight," He looks straight at Sam and moans brokenly, "But not before I lick that off your fucking face."

Sam grins and crawls up the bed, arms and legs on either side of Dean's body, "Sounds like a plan."


End file.
